Chapter 35: FIRST BLOOD
The quarry was quiet at night.
Three days had passed since Indianapolis, three days of routine school and basketball practice and band room meetings that felt different now—charged with something neither of us had named yet. But tonight wasn't about Robin. Tonight was about training.
Phase 3 stability was improving. I could hold the white-hot temperature for five seconds now, reliably, without collapsing immediately afterward. The caloric cost was still brutal—I'd eaten an entire pizza before coming out here—but manageable. Progress.
The wrongness was stronger tonight. I'd noticed it on the drive over, that cold pressure beneath the surface of everything, more intense than usual. I'd chalked it up to the tunnels spreading. The rot at Merrill's farm had gotten worse over the past week, and I'd seen patches appearing in other fields too. Whatever was happening underground was accelerating.
I squared up to my usual target wall and ignited. Orange fire bloomed in my palm, familiar and comfortable after months of practice. I extended my intent outward, let the flame flow toward the distant rock.
Four meters. Clean hit. Scorch mark joining dozens of others from previous sessions.
I shifted to shaping exercises. The blade form was getting better—less "angry breadstick" and more "actual weapon." Max's coaching from California had helped, and the weeks of practice since had refined the technique further.
Three meters. Stable. Narrow stream that could cut as well as burn.
I was about to push for Phase 3 when I felt it.
Movement. Behind me. Close.
I spun, fire still in my hands—
Something lunged from the darkness. Fast, faster than anything should move. A blur of pale flesh and impossible anatomy, a face that opened like a flower to reveal rows of teeth.
Demo-dog.
The word flashed through my mind even as I threw myself sideways, the creature's claws missing my chest by inches. I hit the ground rolling, came up with fire blazing in both hands, and blasted.
The stream hit the Demo-dog center mass. It screamed—a sound that would haunt my nightmares, an unholy shriek that seemed to come from somewhere beyond this world. The flesh sizzled where the fire touched, blackening and smoking.
It didn't stop.
The creature charged through the flames, jaws snapping at where my throat had been a moment earlier. I ducked, blasted again, felt the heat of my own fire wash over my face as the Demo-dog twisted impossibly to avoid the full force.
Fast. Too fast. And tough—Phase 2 fire was hurting it but not stopping it.
I had maybe thirty seconds before my reserves gave out. Twenty before the caloric debt started affecting my coordination.
Phase 3. It was the only option.
I reached for that deeper heat, the white-hot core that had nearly killed me two weeks ago. The temperature in my hands jumped from orange to yellow to something approaching pure white.
The Demo-dog seemed to sense what was coming. It lunged again, desperate now, claws extended.
I met it with everything I had.
Three seconds. That's all I could hold it. But three seconds at 1200 degrees turned the air itself into a weapon. The Demo-dog ignited—not just burned, but truly caught fire, its alien flesh unable to withstand temperatures that would melt steel.
It screamed again, louder this time, a death scream. Collapsed. Twitched. Lay still.
I stood over it for a moment, hands still smoking, heart pounding hard enough to crack ribs. Then my legs gave out and I hit the ground beside the corpse.
Real. It had been real. A monster, an actual monster from another dimension, and I had fought it and killed it and I was still alive.
The shakes started in my hands and worked their way through my whole body. I couldn't stop them, couldn't make my muscles obey, couldn't do anything but lie there on the cold quarry stone and tremble.
After a while—minutes, maybe longer—I managed to crawl to the bushes at the edge of the quarry. My stomach heaved, and everything I'd eaten came back up in a violent rush.
Then, inexplicably, I started laughing.
Not because anything was funny. Because I was alive. Because the fire had worked. Because all those weeks of training, all that preparation for a threat everyone else thought was imaginary, had paid off in the moment it mattered.
I laughed until tears streamed down my face. Then I pushed myself to my feet and looked at what I'd killed.
The Demo-dog was smaller than I'd expected—maybe the size of a large dog, which made sense given the name. The flower-face was closed now, the teeth hidden, making it look almost peaceful if you ignored the charred flesh and the smell of burned meat.
Evidence. I had evidence. But evidence was also a liability—if the wrong people found this, the cover-up would get a lot more aggressive, and I might find myself in the crosshairs.
Decision made. I ignited again—Phase 2 only, nothing I couldn't sustain—and turned the corpse to ash. It took longer than I expected, the alien flesh resistant even in death, but eventually there was nothing left but a scorched patch of ground that could have been from any of my training sessions.
The walk back to the Camaro was the longest of my life. My legs felt like they were filled with sand, and every step required conscious effort. The caloric debt from Phase 3 was hitting hard now, making the world swim at the edges of my vision.
I made it to the car. Sat behind the wheel. Looked at myself in the rearview mirror.
For a moment—just a moment—my eyes seemed to reflect fire. Then it was gone, and I was just a seventeen-year-old boy who'd killed his first monster.
The crisis was here. The Demo-dogs were active. The timeline I'd been preparing for had arrived.
Time to stop training and start fighting.
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